Favor

Ashley Allen hated gyms. Being a cheerleader in high school had been fun, especially Senior year, but the general grossness of sweaty football and basketball players had erased any desire to carry on with the activity into college. It was irony that had her reconnecting with an old cheerleading buddy during a break from school, a full year and more between getting her associates and then going back to pursue her bachelor’s, and being thrust into a world of sports, athletics, and entertainment. That blend of rekindled friendship and employment pushed that irony even further today as the buxom brunette scanned the gym in Oklahoma and fighting off the urge to cover her nose with her shirt. Sweating men and women were everywhere, from skinny bitches to body builders to obese sloths, but it did not take long for her to find her target:

In a display that captured every eye in the gym, a behemoth of a man sat in the leg press machine and had every 45-pound plate in the building racked onto its bars. She lost count of the amount, which included a few stacked haphazardly atop the foot rest, and her eyes went wide as the man heaved the great weight in a smooth motion. The entire gym stopped to watch the spectacle, their eyes locked in disbelief as the gargantuan legs extended and retracted several times with slow, measured movements. When the man grunted a final time, allowing his legs to buckle and the weight to slam into its base with a loud crash, applause broke out among the onlookers.

Slipping through the sweaty bodies, Ashley walks up to the seated man and clears her throat.

“I assume you’re the guy I’m looking for.”

Ashley’s Maine accent sounds odd in the room full drawls, but her words are crisp and clear, despite the inherent nasal sounds of her home. The large man, bearded and with short dark hair, wipes the sweat from his brow and gives a lecherous grin. His eyes move down and up her body, staying a lengthy time on her chest, and suddenly the mischievous words of “Wear something low-cut!” of her employer rang in her ears. Ashley subtly slouches, trying to force her large, and far too revealed, chest out of sight, as she hands the big man an envelope.

“This is for you, to be read immediately.”

The big man takes the envelope but keeps his eyes on Ashley’s chest for a long moment. After what feels like an eternity to her, he finally tears his eyes away and opens the envelope. Inside, he finds a black handkerchief made of silk, featuring red stitching in the shape of a firebird in flight and smelling strongly of lavender, as well as a folded letter. His eyes widen and he smiles as he unfolds the letter and sees a particular hand that he knows well.

Dearest Redd,

Words cannot describe adequately how filled with pride I am that you are now standing strong and firm. Embracing who and what you are, allowing yourself to swell with not just your girth of body, but of your heart, warms me. And it occurs to me that, while we see so little of one another as we gallivant around the world in this craxy business of ours, my Champion should always have the favor of his Blood Princess on his person. Carry my colors with pride, dearest Redd 💋

-S.S.G-L

P.S.: I chose this particular courier in leiu of a pigeon for a reason. I hope that you will leave rats behind when you see the stock we Lacklanders create 😉

Looking away from the letter, Redd Thunder breathes in the scent of the handkerchief, the favor of Sarah Grey-Lacklan, and gives Ashley another wide smile.